The moment he watched his parents fall to their deaths at the tender age of nine his whole world shattered.

As he wound up raising himself as he bounced from foster home to foster home, those broken pieces dug into his soul, and by sixteen he'd already divulged in petty, and then grand, thievery. Four years later, he'd gotten pretty damn good at it, and had succeeded in laying low enough the authorities didn't even know he existed. They always chalked it up to Catwoman or another thief. But his success was always because of one rule- don't get involved with the supervillains. Not when it was so dangerous; he didn't want to get on the Bat's hit list.

Sure, he wasn't a teenager anymore, but a lustful kiss never tasted so sweet when it was… forbidden.

It wasn't like the Red Hood was the worst villain. He wasn't even a villain, really. He did things for good reasons, even if it wasn't the way the Bat liked. He wasn't really a hero, either, but… no one could say he didn't get things done. It was just flirting at first- once in awhile when Dick was in the area, but… well, he wasn't going to complain about where it ended up.

Plus, even without his face visible, the man was damn attractive.

("Really, some nameless thief? Thought I'd catch something a little bigger my first night in Gotham."

Dick flashed a grin, all teeth. "I'm flattered. After all, no one ever knows the name of a thief who never gets caught. And I gotta pay the bills somehow."

"Aren't there more legal ways for that?" Amusement dripped from his tone, surprisingly.

"Sure. But they're all boring. As long as you don't attract bats, there isn't ever a problem."

"Well, you got the right mindset, Pretty Boy.")

Dick was used to being attracted to people. He wasn't gay, but he wasn't straight either. When people were attractive, they just were. Gender had never mattered. He'd hooked up with men and women alike, indiscriminately- though relationships were fairly rare. Blame it on his circus blood, maybe, but he didn't like being tied down. It was easy to not get attached, to just do whatever he wanted, whoever he wanted that wanted him back. So this thing with Jason was just sex. They both knew it. A one hit thing and they were done.

("You always make breakfast for your one night stands, Pretty Boy?"

"Only when they've got a six pack… and only when I want an encore.")

But already he could tell this was different. Even his relationship with that arsonist hadn't been full of so much… fire . At first, things had gone as intended. Just like any other one of his flings. Flirting, flirting and sex and then nothing but a cold bed. It was surprising how much he'd all of a sudden missed the heat. It scared him, but… he couldn't stop.

They both started lingering, thin-veiled excuses to stay a little longer, just a little longer to keep warm. Before long, even in the sun's morning warmth, their fingertips brushed and intertwined, and the need for Jason was more than something physical could fill. He hadn't needed someone in years, since his parents' death, and he had prided himself on that. However, time had worn away the edges of their fast and lustful affair, and revealed a soft, gentle need for romance. Love, maybe, though he was hesitant to call it that at first.

(" Careful," Dick had purred. "Don't forget I am a thief. I could steal your heart if I wanted."

"Like hell," Jason had growled back. "You can't take anything I don't let you take.")

But yet, they both denied (or at least Dick did) that anything had changed at all. Been hurt too much, lost everything too many times. Something as sweet as what was blossoming between them felt too good to be real, the truth. His world had been dyed black and red so long that he'd almost forgotten any other colors existed. But ever so slowly in butterfly kisses and gentle fingers blues and greens and yellows painted themselves over the bleakness, and he hadn't even noticed under his closed eyelids. Eyes he'd opened to see him, and it wasn't just about having the forbidden fruit anymore.

He didn't have a choice in the matter. No one ever does, in love.

Maybe the 'I want more' conversation should have been saved for the morning after another passionate night, or a private moment but instead he's covered in Jason's blood and wide eyed it just slips out, and lucky Jason was wearing the domino mask because his pale helmet-less face smiles. It was then Dick tells him he better not die because he has a promise to keep now.

Their next kiss is void of passion and is all desperation, desperation and hope that maybe they'll get to keep it.

Please, Dick begs. Please, let me keep one good thing.

Before this, he'd been drowning, drowning in depression and fear and guilt until Jason's hand reached out and pulls him out of the water. He can't lose his lifeline, not again, please-

Dick takes him home, despite Jason's arguments that he's fine. He knows death, in the intimate way of a friend or almost lover, in a way only an orphan would know. The intimacy of watching the life drain out of a final breath was not easily forgotten, and right now he would not let it happen again.

Please let me help you, please.

Okay, fine, Jason says, and Dick just smiles and smiles because something has shifted irreversibly but it's freedom and happiness and that fire, that fire overtakes everything. But somehow they're never burned.

("You sure I'm what you want?" Jason jokes, but there's something serious in his eyes, something hidden.

"No one else could keep up with me." He smiles, and somehow he's done something right because Jason returns it.

"You're really something, you know that, Pretty Boy?" Jason knew his name now, but it was just like back then. Before they knew. A mimic from the past

"You're something yourself, Red Hood," he replies, laughing as his fingers go to Jason's, his smile widening as heat shoots up his fingers. "You're a wild fire."

"No," Jason grins. "We are.")